Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Silence	By : thenextjourney Category: Harry Potter AU/AR > Het - Male/Female Views: 2049 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: JKR owns the Harry Potter Series in its entirety, and I don't write for money.

Chapter List
- 1-Silence
- 2-Fate
- 3-Poison
- 4-Almost
- 5-Keeper
- 6-Illusion
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- 2
- 3
Silence

The moment Godric's bushy tail crossed the threshold of their home, Oliver closed the door with his foot. He locked it, waiting for the satisfying click, before standing still in the front hall. Closing his eyes for a moment, he listened. The only noise in the darkened home was his and Godric's ragged breathing.

"Do you think whoever did this is still out there, boy?" he finally muttered to the collie, who was sitting by his feet with his tongue lolling out. Godric didn't seem too worried, so Oliver shifted the woman's weight and cast several protective charms over his home. He hoped whoever they were hadn't followed, but it'd have to be put on the backburner for now. The woman in his arms was clearly failing despite his clever clotting charm. She was pale and cold to the touch.

Oliver carried her to the living room and laid her down gently on the leather couch before closing the blinds with a flick of his wand. He didn't want anyone passing by to think he was home, so he couldn't do much for lights. As a substitute, he pulled out several candles Fred and George had nicked from the Great Hall and sent him after he was accepted as a reserve Keeper. The candles lit themselves and floated towards the ceiling, bobbing in midair and sending a warm glow over the room.

Still shaking, Oliver kneeled beside the woman to examine her injuries. In any other situation, he would've been mortified to have an unconscious and nearly naked woman in front of him, but he hardly noticed. He fell into his concentrated Quidditch-mode, something that made him a good accomplice to Madame Pomfrey in the Final Battle.

The worst injuries were the slash marks marring her body. In the soft candle-light, he could see just how deep they were. She had lost a lot of blood.

What had the spell been? It had been years…Oliver wracked his brain as he felt Godric settle in besides him and place his head on the couch next to the woman's hand.

"Vulnera Sanentur," he finally muttered, dragging the wand over a gash in her neck. The skin began to knit back together until there was only a faint pink mark. Satisfied, he moved meticulously down her body, healing every gash and cut.

When Oliver finished, he sat back on his heels to make sure he'd gotten everything. What he saw unnerved him; there was a large bruise blossoming under the skin of her thigh. As he watched, the edges spread slowly. Gingerly, he reached forward and placed his hand on her leg. He added a little pressure, and his breath caught as he felt the bone bend in.

Broken bones. He took a shaky breath and nodded to himself again, because this time he was in his element. They used this spell a lot at Puddlemere practices.

"Ferula," he said. Bandages shot out of his wand before winding around her leg. A wooden rod followed, rejoining the fracture before the whole contraption wound into a tight splint.

Godric had fallen asleep and was snoring quietly. Oliver took a moment to close his eyes and listen for any noises outside, but blissfully heard nothing but the lump next to him.

After a minute, he took a steadying breath and went back to work. The woman's breathing was shallow but even and some color was returning to her deathly pale cheeks. He had no clue how to increase her blood supply, so he hoped what she had left was enough to sustain her. They seemed to be out of the woods for the moment, though.

Fluids might be good. Wait…where did I hear that? A muggle TV show?

Oliver made a face, annoyed at his lack of knowledge about the human body and medicine.

He didn't feel like much help, so why had fate rolled the dice and crossed their paths? Who was the woman? And who hurt her so badly?

Although his questions remained unanswered, he felt a lot better. He might've saved her life. It was a feeling similar to winning a tough Quidditch match; the adrenaline rush was maddening. He was ready to tackle the next challenge.

The woman was still coated in blood, but the only injuries left were the ones to her face. Oliver siphoned as much blood from her body as he could, dissolving the last bits of her clothing in the process. His face turned pink when he was finished. She looked decidedly more woman and less murder victim now. His eyes traveled down her small, full breasts to the curve of her slim waist and hips. Her skin was creamy white and he could see spots of freckles between the shadows of the candlelight. Fading pink marks were the only remainder of the gashes. He pulled his eyes away and flushed darker. It wasn't as if he hadn't seen a naked woman before, because he'd seen his fair share, but it now felt wrong and completely alien.

Oliver had to remind himself that he was helping her before he could look back. She still needed a bath to get all the blood off, but Merlin forbid if she woke up while he was bathing her. No, he would wait.

He pulled a thick Puddlemere blanket from the top of the couch and covered her from the neck down. Feeling less uncomfortable, he moved over on his knees to her face. From what he could see that wasn't matted in blood, her hair was a long tangle of chestnut colored curls. Oliver tried his best to clean off some of the blood, running his fingers through her hair as he did so. Soft.

She was becoming more real, more human, before his eyes.

Feeling suddenly sick, he pulled away, his chest aching. He wanted to comfort her, but she was still nameless, and he felt awkward. Who was he to presume what she went through? He certainly couldn't recognize her now, as swollen as she was. He wondered if he would see a face he could recognize as a Ministry official or a foreign representative.

No, he couldn't distract himself. Not yet. Not while her face was still smashed in.

Glad she was unconscious, he held his wand above her nose and muttered, "Episkey." There was a sharp crack as her nose snapped back into alignment, as small and straight as it was before. More freckles, he noted. He sealed her split lip, and then examined the swelling and bruises.

What kind of monster sought to destroy another person's face?

A monster filled with rage, Oliver decided. Whoever it was must've had a personal agenda against the woman. It was savage, if not downright inhuman.

Finally, he began to work from her neck up and across her face, healing the bruises and bumps.

A rounded chin, up into pale pink lips.

A gently curved jawline.

Long, dark eyelashes.

A smooth forehead with milky white skin.

Amber eyes, still closed.

These features melded into a face and a person that Oliver Wood not only recognized, but knew. Though the years had changed her, it was unmistakable.

She was unmistakable.

In shock, he sat back on his heels. He not only knew this woman, he had gone to school with her. She was best friends with the finest Gryffindor seeker and smartest witch of her year.

Hermione Granger.

The last he had heard of her, she was working in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures on a case involving house elves. It was all over the Prophet.

How did she end up here?

A million questions crossed his mind all at once. Should he call the Aurors? Should he find Potter or Weasley? Send her to St. Mungos? Was she still in danger? Were they in danger? Why wasn't she dead when he found her? Did the ministry killers fail? Did he or Godric scare them away? Why?

What did it mean that she was one of the most celebrated war heroes of their generation?

Should they leave?

No, he decided. For now, it was best they remained where they were. Until she woke up and Oliver got answers, she would stay.

He cradled his head between his knees and took a deep breath to calm his thoughts. She had wanted somewhere safe, and he had given it to her. He tried to reason that who she was changed nothing, but of course it did. His chest ached more violently. He had seen her grow up and had admired her dedication, to studies and friends, from afar. He would never forget the Quidditch match against Hufflepuff in his seventh year when she'd waterproofed Potter's glasses. She was brilliant, and that the world would do this to her was something Oliver had a hard time coping with.

He looked up at Hermione. She seemed peaceful now, like she was sleeping. So innocent. Oliver ran a hand through his disheveled hair and breathed out through pursed lips.

He was embarrassed he had appreciated her naked. The fact that he knew her made him feel like a pervert. Ashamed, he stood up and went to the kitchen.

Fluids, he reminded himself.

A minute later, he walked back in with a glass of water as Godric began to snore loudly. Oliver scowled at his dog and nudged him awake, motioning for him to go back to the bedroom. Godric looked up sleepily at his owner before licking the drool from his lips and laying his head back down next to Hermione.

"You numpty," Oliver whispered, leaning down to stroke Godric's fur. "It seems you'll be keeping watch tonight."

Feeling decidedly clumsy, he positioned himself on his knees again and slipped his hand under her neck. He was pleased to feel that she was warming up as he used his arm to keep her head steady. Very slowly, he brought the glass to Hermione's parched lips and tilted it towards her. Her lips parted instinctively and she swallowed the cool liquid. After a few drinks her mouth closed, but Oliver was satisfied for now.

He set the glass on the coffee table so she could reach it when she woke up.

Outside, dawn was approaching. Oliver could smell it in the air; he was usually an early riser. All he wanted to do now, though, was sleep. With a wave of his wand, he blew the candles out and plunged them into darkness.

He desperately wanted the comfort of his own bed, but knew he couldn't go back to his room. When Hermione woke up in an unfamiliar place after such a terrifying event, he wanted her to see a familiar face. He didn't want her to be alone.

Oliver grabbed a few pillows and blankets from the living room chairs and made a makeshift bed on the floor. He lay down with his wand close and looked around to make sure everything was quiet.

When he was sure nothing was amiss, he pillowed his arms under his head and allowed his eyes to close.

Despite being exhausted, it took him well past dawn to fall asleep. He was half terrified that someone would barge in, or that Hermione would wake up, or that Godric would begin to growl. The thought made his hair stand on end.

He wasn't ready to face the upcoming day. He was scared of Hermione's reaction. Would she know who hurt her? Would she even wake up at all? What if he'd been too little too late?

He couldn't believe that all this came from his dog needing to piss at 3 am.

But if he hadn't found Hermione, she would be dead.

Oliver preferred this outcome much more.

He just didn't know what to do next.

When he finally did fall asleep, his dreams were muddled and confused. He was burning hot and viciously angry. There was someone there, in the darkness. He could feel their eyes, like arrows in his head. He wanted so badly to fly away.

Sweat beaded down his back.

A dog growled, low and brutal, in the background.

Oliver woke in the afternoon to the sound of something shattering. He sat up immediately, grabbing his wand and rubbing at his groggy eyes.

The Puddlemere blanket lay in a pile on the floor.

Hermione and Godric were nowhere to be seen.

A/N: I know it's short right now, but the next chapter will be about double the length. I tend to not like really long chapters.

And if anyone asks, I've purposefully left out Oliver's accent because of personal reasons. I don't have anything against authors who use it, and I like reading it, but it feels weird for me to write it. And I'd do it terribllyy. The sexy Scottish accent is still there-it just takes some imagination.
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Silence